Temporary Insanity
by omnomchocolate
Summary: Madness is but a simple divide, and a small push is all it takes to blur the lines. Sherlock loses the key to his mind, and Moriarty is more than willing to make sure it stays missing forever. Cowritten with batlock from tumblr. Not beta'd or brit-picked. HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

**A/N: **This was cowritten with the fantastic writer batlock who can be found on tumblr. I wrote as Moriarty and batlock wrote as Sherlock. The perspectives do change back and forth.

* * *

_"Grandmother, what big teeth you have got!"_

_"All the better to eat you up with."_

_And, saying these words, this wicked wolf fell upon Little Red Riding Hood, and ate her all up._

-_Little Red Riding Hood_, Charles Perrault

* * *

Sherlock's head lulled from side to side as he slowly sat up.

It hurt.

It more than hurt; it was bleeding.

He wiped the thin trickle of blood from his forehead and pushed himself to his feet. He had no interest in being surrounded by the muck and grime coating the floor. This was bad. He had no idea where he was, save for the knowledge that this seemed to be some sort of cellar. He had no idea what had transpired, with the exception of the rather sore bump on his head. And he had no idea who he was.

This was very bad and depending on who the approaching footsteps he could hear belonged to, it may be getting worse.

* * *

Jim approached the door to the cellar, knocking but opening it quickly after without waiting for any reply. He knew exactly who was behind that door, and he couldn't help how excited he was to see his little rival.

"Helloooo, sleeping beauty." Jim sang, as he took in Sherlock's appearance. He was worse for the wear, a trickle of blood making its way down his head and around his neck. Jim narrowed his eyes, making a mental note to have Sebastian kill whoever had brought Sherlock to him like this. He did not enjoy having his toys broken. Only he could do that. "How are you, my lovely?"

* * *

He swallowed, narrowing his eyes and looking over this man. Clearly, he could tell by the tone alone, they were familiar to each other. How Sherlock knew him, he had no idea. On the bright side, he didn't seem to be armed. Maybe he wasn't here to hurt him. That would be most preferable. It didn't hurt to be cautious though. Sherlock hesitantly took a step closer to him. "Did... were you the one who locked me up in here? I need to leave. I need a doctor."

* * *

Jim's eyes widened with glee and he let out a small chuckle. Sherlock had no idea who he was! How precious was this! He decided that he wouldn't kill whoever had hurt Sherlock like that. Nah, he would be merciful, probably amputate one of the fellow's limbs. After all, he was being served a temporarily amnesiac Sherlock. There was just no way Jim was going to pass this opportunity up. This was the perfect moment to do what he did best: wreak some havoc.

Jim faked some tears, siddling up to Sherlock and hugging him tightly for a few moments before letting him go. "Oh darling, of course." Jim sniffled. "Do you remember who you are? Do you know who I am?"

* * *

"I..." Sherlock was confused. He still had no recollection of how he ended up in this place, but at least now there was someone here for him, someone who seemed to care about him a great deal judging by the pet names. Slowly, he shook his head, eyes cast down at the floor.

"I'm afraid at the moment, I can't remember anything prior to waking up in this room." Sherlock relaxed some, still glancing around in hopes that something would help. "I can surmise that I was thrown in here against my will, but unfortunately, I can't seem to get anything beyond that. I have no idea who you are."

* * *

Jim frowned, his body shuddering as if he was terribly saddened by the news, and he wiped his eyes. "Oh, Sherly, how you wound me." Jim sniffled. "That evil man, John, held you up in here. I'm Jim? Don't you remember? I'm your flatmate." He pulled Sherlock in for another hug. "I'm just glad we found you in time. You're okay."

* * *

Flatmate. That did seem vaguely familiar. Sherlock managed a smile as he was pulled in for a hug, cautiously wrapping his arms around Jim. Jim. Yes, he definitely recognized that name. That was progress, right? "Yeah..." he said quietly. "I think I'm fine, yes. Still, considering the size of the wound and the fact that I was unconscious... A hospital visit may be in order. Were we... close? You seem to be hugging me a lot."

* * *

Jim was doing his absolute best to not burst out in laughter. This was so easy. The man's demeanor had changed almost instantly when he thought that Jim was his flatmate. Was this how he was around John? God, Jim could not wait to see how Sherlock would act when he got his memories back.

Jim turned his head away, his eyes blinking rapidly, mostly from the sheer strain it took not to roll on the floor and giggle hysterically at Sherlock's look. But of course, Sherlock didn't know that.

"I... You're injured and you can't remember anything. I don't want to burden you with that. Just..." Jim's arms dropped limply to his side, and he looked down at his polished Gucci shoes which were now covered in disgusting muck. He'd have to buy himself a new pair. "How about we just get you fixed up, hmm?"

* * *

"That might be for the best, yes." Sherlock nodded, grateful to be getting out of this miserable room. Taking one unsteady step after another, Sherlock made his way out of the room, following close behind Jim. "And you think you'll be able to help me fill in the blanks?" He frowned, focusing intently. "I hate not knowing what happened. It's unbearably frustrating. When we get back to the flat? Perhaps that will help to jog my memory some..."

* * *

Jim looked up at Sherlock and gave him a grin which was meant to look sympathetic. "Sure, of course, lovely. There's nothing I would want more than that." Jim was going to have an absolutely delightful time with Sherlock. "Let's go, shall we?" He walked out of the room, Sherlock trailing right behind him, as they made their way towards Jim's small and humble flat in the more well-off part of London.

* * *

Oh. His first thoughts upon entering the flat were not of the positive sort. Sherlock glanced around. It was rather nice, gorgeous in fact. The only problem was that it didn't seem the least bit familiar. That wouldn't do. He had felt something upon coming face-to-face with Jim, but nothing here. It was like he was taking one step forward and two steps back. Sherlock let out a sigh.

He'd just have to remain hopeful.

* * *

"This way, Sherly," Jim called out as he watched Sherlock glance around his flat. Sherlock had a puzzled look on his face, and Jim was positive that he was confused as to why nothing looked familiar. "Had some redecorating done, love. You'll have time to look around our flat when you've gotten your check up. The doctor's in, and he's not over there."

Jim stood patiently by the doorway leading to his bedroom, where he gotten Sebastian to pick up a renowned doctor from France on his way over. The doctor wouldn't blab, especially not with his children under Jim's watchful gaze. Not that it mattered anyway, since no one would ever see the doctor again after today. Scandals can do horrible things to a man's mind. "Darling?" Jim called out again.

* * *

Jim's voice seemed to shake Sherlock from his stupor. "Sorry." He shook his head, moving quickly to follow after Jim. There it was again. This wasn't the first time Jim referred to him by some sort of ridiculous pet name. Was that just how the other man was? He wasn't sure.

Sherlock made his way into the bedroom, watching Jim until his eyes fell on the doctor. A grin tugged at his lips as he sat down. "Funny. I can't remember much, but I'm fairly certain that it's not common practice for doctors to make house calls." Sherlock looked over to Jim.

* * *

"I'm a special case." Jim smiled as he walked over to the doctor, his arm resting around the man's neck and over his shoulder as if they were close friends. He looked at the doctor, a large grin on his face. He raised his eyebrows expectantly at the doctor. "He and I are mates, came to know him from some business I had in France. And he owes me a favor." Jim laughed affably, before glancing at the doctor. "Right, Antoine?" The doctor nodded, not daring to speak a work.

_Good boy_, Jim thought. He turned over to Sherlock, before nodding towards the man to go ahead. "Go on. Make sure he's alright, won't you?"

* * *

Sherlock tilted his head to better show off the bump. "Something struck me here. That much I've managed to gather. I was unconscious for a period of time and am currently dealing with a bout of amnesia. However, Jim has been a great help." He smiled up at him. It was rather fortunate that he had a flatmate who was willing to, not only tolerate his strange problems, but help him out as well.

Eyes still on Jim, Sherlock finally dared to ask, "We were close, weren't we?"

* * *

Jim put his hands in his pockets, looking at the ground, a bashful expression on his face. "Yes... we were." Jim muttered softly. "But you don't have to worry about that. I don't expect you to remember anything." The doctor walked over to Jim, and told him of Sherlock's condition. He had a slight concussion, and amnesia, temporary, but for how long, was uncertain.

"Thank you, Antoine." Jim nodded towards the door. The doctor couldn't have left any faster. Jim chuckled, amused at how people always scurried away from him. The doctor thought he was home-free. How very, very wrong, that would prove to be. Jim looked back to Sherlock, who was staring at him from his seat on Jim's bed.

* * *

"I don't remember anything," Sherlock agreed, watching Jim carefully. "However, as I stated before, I want to remember. I was hoping the flat would trigger something, but that plan quickly fell through. What can you tell me then?" His attention was fully on Jim at this point as he leaned in. "Tell me about myself, about who I used to be, how I know you. Anything." Sherlock was impatient as he ever was, desperate to make the pieces fit together. The sooner he remembered something, the sooner things could start making sense again.

* * *

"Yes, yes, I'll tell you of course." His little Sherlock, always eager to solve the puzzle. Jim frowned as he stared at Sherlock's wounds. His fingers brushed lightly over the cut stretching from Sherlock's head to forehead. Jim decided he would execute the man who did this to Sherlock after all. This wound had a good chance of leaving behind a small scar. Of course it wouldn't mar the appeal Sherlock held, but nonetheless, he did not appreciate it. "However, I think it might be better for you to rest a little. Are you sure you want me to tell you now, lovely?" Jim sat down in the armchair in the corner of his room, folding his legs and looking at Sherlock expectantly.

* * *

Rest. He didn't want to rest, but Jim was right. It was likely a good idea. Sherlock frowned for a moment before finally giving in. "All right. Rest. We can talk afterwards." Sherlock looked around for a moment before turning back to Jim. He hated this, feeling so helpless. "This bedroom. Is it..." His voice trailed off some, not entirely certain how he should phrase the question.

* * *

Jim fiddled with his fingers, a light red tint on his cheeks. He gave Sherlock a small smile, before standing up and making his way to the door. "Don't worry, you can sleep alone tonight. I..." Jim shifted his feet, as if embarrassed. "I know you don't remember anything." He opened the door, halfway through, when he stopped and looked back. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to call me. Even if you've forgotten, I'm still your flatmate. Friend." Jim added.

He nearly grimaced at the word. Friend. If he wasn't in the presence of Sherlock, he would have scoffed loudly and rolled his eyes. Friend. What a feeble and useless thing to have. He would never understand the desire to have such things. Human attachments made people weak.

Stupid.

Ordinary.

And Jim Moriarty was far, far, above all of that. If only Sherlock could see the same way he did, together they would be unstoppable. But no, Sherlock had to go and lower himself to the normal people, which, in Jim's eyes, made him just as despicable as them.

And it was because of that they were two forces colliding in a deadly game that only one would survive in.

* * *

Sherlock was stunned. He really shouldn't be, all things considered. However, there is was. Jim had just said it. They were in some sort of relationship. At the very least, sleeping together.

He slowly gave Jim a nod as he started to unbutton his shirt. After being thrown into whatever that place was for an indeterminate amount of time, his clothes were not in the best of sorts. Before the other man left, he glanced around. "Jim? Where is the hamper?" Obviously, as it was out of sight, it would be located in either the bathroom or closet, but he didn't feel right rummaging around for it. Even though he apparently lived here.

* * *

Jim was pulled from his thoughts by Sherlock's question. He turned around, halfway between the door. "Ah, yes, the hamper. Over there." Jim pointed towards the door that led to his closet. "I keep forgetting that you don't remember anything. Feel free to use anything in there." He gave Sherlock one last glance, before he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Jim closed his eyes, his lips curling in a smirk. This amnesia had just upped the stakes. There was no better way to break Sherlock down than this. Sherlock was, for the time-being, essentially a blank slate. Jim could do whatever he wanted with Sherlock, with no interference from his irritating brother or clingy pet. He could see what life would have been like had his little toy not associated itself with the boring people.

Jim Moriarty would build up the Sherlock he wanted, and when Sherlock regained his memories, Jim would have no problem tearing it back down.

This little game of theirs just got interesting.

* * *

Sherlock gave him one last smile before he finished undressing, save for his pants which he kept on. He scooped up his clothes and made his way back into the closet.

Once inside, Sherlock quickly located the hamper and disposed of his muck-covered things. Curiosity was overwhelming though and he began to look around. Strange. He couldn't remember who he was worth a damn and yet the designer of each and every one of those suits stuck out in his mind clear as day. They were all very nice, very expensive. Clearly he and Jim were at least somewhat well off. Sherlock smiled, tracing his fingers over the expensive material and just lingering. Sleep would be a good idea though. After all he'd been through rest was important.

Sherlock made his way back into the bedroom and slipped into the bed. Plush, comfortable. Maybe he could get used to this. Sherlock stretched out on the mattress as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Jim sat in his study, his legs propped on his ebony desk, and his hands clasped. His head rested against his leather chair and his eyes were staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. Jim's mind was tearing through hundreds of thoughts, but only one was significant.

Sherlock.

What would be the best way to go about this? What operations could he involve Sherlock in? How could he slow down Mycroft's annoying web of surveillance long enough for him to play with Sherlock thoroughly? Jim was close to narrowing down a solution to all of his questions, when his phone rang. It was one of his associates, a leader of one of the terrorist cells in Pakistan.

"What?" Jim barked, irritated. These ordinary people held about as much interest to him as... well, everything else. They were boring. All he cared about right now was Sherlock. He had lived his entire life waiting for a toy like him to come along. "No, I'm not interested." Jim shut his phone. Weapons. God, these dimwits always wanted weapons. Jim gave them some, and suddenly they thought they were entitled to more. He sent a quick text to Sebastian with orders to kill the irritating leader and release the names and faces of the members of his cell to the public.

Jim tossed his phone onto the table before resuming his thoughts.

* * *

**A/N: **I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please don't forget to leave a review, and let batlock and I know what you think of the story so far. :) The plot will thicken... next chapter! :o Thanks for reading!

-omnomchocolate


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

**A/N: **This was cowritten with the fantastic writer batlock who can be found on tumblr. I wrote as Moriarty and batlock wrote as Sherlock. The perspectives do change back and forth.

* * *

Sherlock stretched out in the bed, sleeping comfortably. He rested for a few hours without any trouble, perhaps that had something to do with not being cramped or covered in mud. However, amnesia or not, Sherlock was not one to sleep for long periods of time. Soon he awoke. It was nice here, but there was something off. He shook his head. It would all fit together eventually. There was no way Sherlock would know how long it had been since he'd eaten anything, but he was fairly certain it had been a while.

Letting out a yawn and slowly getting to his feet, Sherlock made his way into the kitchen. A cup of tea would be a good start. He could work from there. After a bit of rummaging, Sherlock was able to locate tea and mugs. He leaned back against the counter as he waited for the kettle to boil, wondering if he should get Jim a cup as well.

* * *

Jim opened the door to his flat, and stepped inside to see Sherlock standing in the kitchen brewing some tea. "Morning, Sherly. Sleep well?" he asked as took off his shoes. Jim paused, frowning when he noticed a small speck of blood on the tip of his left shoe. He let out a groan. That was two pairs of Gucci gone in the span of twenty-four hours. God, he hated interrogations. They were always so messy. He pushed his shoes into the closet, making a mental note to get rid of them later. He walked into the kitchen, a bright smile on his face. "Lovely, making some tea? I'll have a cuppa."

* * *

Sherlock nodded, grabbing the kettle and pouring a second cup for Jim. "It was nice to sleep in an actual bed for a change." After he finished with the tea, he passed it over to Jim. "I was hoping that we could talk today. I need to know who I was." Having rested, Sherlock was more demanding at this point. "I can't live unaware of so much. Not knowing... it... it's hateful. Aggravating."

Slowly, Sherlock took a deep breath and stepped closer to Jim. "You said we were...close?" He hoped Jim would be willing to talk about something.

* * *

Jim sipped his tea slowly as he peeked up at Sherlock, a small smile on his lips. What Sherlock said was an understatement. He knew that Sherlock couldn't stand not knowing anything. It wasn't in his nature. He was probably beating himself up inside trying to figure out the puzzle that was his memories. Sherlock always wanted to be the smartest, which Jim found to be absolutely adorable. He let out a small breath, setting the cup down on the counter as he stared at Sherlock in the eyes. "Well, yes." Jim replied, scratching his head sheepishly. "We were... but that doesn't matter right now. I don't expect you to remember."

* * *

"Tell me something," he pleaded. "Anything. I can't just walk around like this." Sherlock shook his head, turning away from Jim. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be upset. You're helping me out and everything. It just..." He swallowed, shaking his head. It felt like Jim was keeping something from him, hiding something. Sherlock just wished he could place what. "Just tell me." He turned back, reaching out with one hand and placing it on John's chest. "I won't be mad. Whatever it is, I promise not to be upset."

* * *

"Of course, Sherly. I just don't know where to start... We've been through so much together." Jim looked down at the pale hand that was resting on his chest and bit his lip, more out of an attempt to restrain from bursting out laughing than anything else. He placed his hand over Sherlock's and squeezed gently. If only Sherlock knew what they had really been though, he most certainly wouldn't be standing here in front of Jim, so domestic. If anything, he'd probably try to kill Jim, like he attempted to do at the pool. Jim was still offended by that incident. After all, he had gone through a lot of work setting up that game for Sherlock, only to have the detective pull a gun on him when they finally met for the first time.

Disappointing.

Jim pulled out a chair and sat down, giving Sherlock a serious look. "What do you remember last? What do you want to know?"

* * *

Sherlock nodded, sitting down next to Jim. There was so much that he wanted to know, really...everything. So, the question was really 'Where do you want to start?' He shut his eyes in thought, trying to relax back against the chair. Perhaps he should have waited until after he had on more than just pants for this line of inquiry. Still, Sherlock didn't feel any real compulsion to get dressed. He was comfortable.

"What I remember..." he thought back, trying to focus and calm his mind. He needed order and right now his brain was a jumbled mess. "I remember my childhood...vaguely. Faces, but not names. It is relatively clear though. I can piece most of it together. I have bits and pieces. I was smart or more than smart. I didn't have any friends or anything like that." His head tipped back as he tried to recall further. "I... had some sort of drug problem? I'm not sure. I can't remember much of my personal history." Sherlock opened his eyes, irritated and scowling. "Wonderful."

* * *

Poor, little Sherly. The toy doesn't remember anything. Sherlock had no idea who he was. At this point, Jim knew more about Sherlock than Sherlock knew about himself. Sherlock's amnesia was even worse than he had originally thought. This is too easy.

Jim frowned at Sherlock, his arms resting on each side of the chair, as he flipped through possible responses in his mind. "Oh Sherlock." he whispered, his forehead creasing with false concern. It was best that Jim stayed as close as possible to Sherlock's actual past. Sherlock, even without his memories, was not someone to underestimate. He would, no doubt, be able to pick out any large lies that he didn't feel fit properly.

If there was one thing he was grateful to Mycroft for, it was for selling Sherlock's entire history to him. The power of brotherly love was truly a force to be reckoned with. "Don't fret, darling. It'll all come back eventually." Jim's eyes glanced over Sherlock's lean figure appreciatively. The man was beautiful normally, but he was even more alluring when he was confused.

* * *

He smiled over at Jim. "Yes, well. That's what I was hoping you could help with. I don't expect you to know everything." Sherlock shook his head. "However, anything would help. After all, the gap is roughly from when I was...seventeen to yesterday. Really, anything you know." Jim had stated that they were a couple at one point. He reached out, placing one hand on the other man's arm, leaning in some. There was a good chance then that increased contact would help. It couldn't hurt.  
Sherlock kept his hand on Jim as he watched the other man carefully. It wasn't that he didn't trust him. After all, Jim had rescued him, of course he had his trust. No, the issue was more of worry. Jim obviously knew him. Maybe there was something he was hiding? Something he didn't think Sherlock would want to know? That would explain the hesitation to discuss this. His head tilted up, eyes meeting Jim's. "Was I a bad person?"

* * *

"Bad? You need to stop thinking in such black and white terms. People like us, Sherlock, are not bound by the laws of society. There is no good and no bad. We do whatever we want, and that's the way it's always been. The strong prevail over the weak, and we are at the very top." Jim pursed his lips tightly, his eyes never leaving Sherlock's face. Jim leaned forward, his lips mere centimeters away from Sherlock's ear. "Besides," his voice a quiet whisper, "morality is a little overrated, don't you think?" Jim sat back, folding his legs. He nearly died at the stunned expression on Sherlock's face. Jim closed his eyes and began laughing loudly, to the point where tears were coming out of his eyes. He hadn't laughed this hard in ages.

"Oh Sherly, so uptight!" he stood up and patted Sherlock's shoulder reassuringly. "Of course not. You're an angel." Boring. Jim flashed his teeth, before wandering over to the kitchen. "More tea, love?"

* * *

"No." Sherlock said coolly, stepping up from the table. It was bad enough the shiver that ran down his spine when he felt Jim lean in, speaking into his ear. Clearly, his flatmate and possible boyfriend had a habit of messing with him. That would be something to note, possibly watch out for. "If you could just direct me to which clothes are mine. I think I'll get dressed. Do some research."

Research. That did sound tempting, enjoyable even. The idea of being able to piece everything together like a puzzle was appealing. Not only would he be able to work out something about who he was, but he'd get to exercise his brain. It sorely needed it. Did Jim expect him to just sit around the flat all day? Is that what he did before? Either way that wouldn't do.

He made his way back towards the bedroom, wanting something to focus on. Something that would be able to hold his attention. Something that would stop Jim's words from buzzing around in his head. They were interesting, he had to admit.

* * *

No matter how hard he tried, Jim could not wipe off the grin on his face. He poured himself a second cup, making his way into the living room and over to his armchair. Jim sipped his tea quietly as he replayed the last few minutes in his mind. Sherlock had been so taken aback by his response, he had completely forgotten about the questions about his past.

Jim did it again.

He didn't mean to mess with the man, but it was just so enjoyable, which made it all the more difficult to pass up the opportunity when it came to him. He'd probably unsettled Sherlock, which meant that Jim would have to be extra careful not to make him any more suspicious. Perhaps Jim's words would sink into Sherlock's mind, bring him about to seeing things his way. Perhaps they wouldn't.

Either way, Jim was feeling very satisfied.

* * *

Without bothering to wait for Jim, Sherlock headed back into the closet. There were several things in here that caught his eye last night. Of course, the trouble was differentiating which things belonged to him and which to Jim. Eventually, he settled on a nice pair of black trousers by Hugo Boss and a crisp white shirt. The trousers did seem a bit short, but not noticeably so. Sherlock sat the clothes out on the bed before looking around again.  
He still had some flecks of mud on his face and in his hair from the ordeal, as he'd grown accustomed to calling it. That wouldn't do. Sherlock thought about asking Jim, but since he didn't seem able to get a straight answer out of the other man, he decided against it. There weren't any other doors in the bedroom, so that left only a few options in the hall. It didn't take Sherlock long to find the bathroom. After everything he'd gone through and everything he still was, Sherlock desperately needed a shower. It would be nice. A bit of time to relax alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Jim hummed happily to himself as he checked over Sebastian's text messages to him. Sebastian's last report had only consisted of good news. The idiot that had injured Sherlock had been murdered, the blame pinned on late-night robbery. The good doctor Antoine had just hung himself as a result of some rumors swirling about his illicit participation in a drug ring. Jim's trafficking operations in Southeast Asia were going well. The cartel wars in Mexico were intensifying according to plan. And the weapons production was on schedule.

Best of all, Mycroft had "pinpointed" his location to a mansion in the Southern region of China, following a fake lead that would have him running around the world in search for Moriarty when Jim was right in his backyard.

All in all, very good news.

* * *

Sherlock relaxed back against the tile wall of the shower and just let the water run over him. It was a wonderful feeling, the warmth. Not to mention that he couldn't remember the last time he felt this clean. Huh. At least his sense of humor didn't seem to be affected by the bout of amnesia. His eyes closed as he started to scrub himself off. All alone in here with his thoughts, it was shockingly pleasant.

So, that's what he did. Think. Sherlock thought on Jim. On what Jim said. On himself. On what little data he had available on the subject. It was strange to consider. He knew a great deal. That much was obvious. However, he knew so little about himself. Maybe it wouldn't come back? Would he just have to go on without it? As Sherlock turned off the water and began to towel off, he came to a sort of realization.

He didn't care.

It didn't matter who he was. It didn't matter what he would be told. It wouldn't change who he was in that moment. So long as information wasn't needed, he wouldn't bother with it. If it came back on its own, fine. If not, well, Sherlock was smart. He could work around it. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he headed back into the bedroom to get dressed, feeling a bit better about the whole situation.

* * *

Jim cruised into the bedroom, knowing full-well that Sherlock was in there changing, fresh from his little shower. Sherlock was standing still, his hands on the towel wrapped around his waist. Jim was hoping to get some sort of reaction from Sherlock through his sudden intrusion. But there was none. God, the man was stoic even without his memories. Jim blinked at Sherlock, and Sherlock blinked back. Jim wanted to roll his eyes. Sherlock definitely needed to lighten up. In any case, Jim acted as if he had barged in by accident and was affected by the sight of Sherlock half-naked.

"Oh." Jim stated, his hands on the frame of the doorway. "So sorry. I, uh... Didn't know you were in here." He put on an embarrassed blush and turned away, scratching his head awkwardly. "Just wanted to let you know that I'll be going out for a bit. I have some business to run. You'll be fine without me, I hope?"

* * *

Sherlock shrugged, folding up the towel and grabbing the clothes he had set out. "I should be fine, yes." Of course, he was found without wallet or any personal effects. "Is there a spare key or something of the sort? I was thinking of heading out." He smiled over at Jim, slipping on his pants. "I don't mean any offense, of course, but if I stay cooped up in here doing nothing for too long, I'm afraid I might go insane."

He let out a small chuckle, but it was true. There didn't seem to be much to do around the flat. If he just sat around doing nothing all day, his mind felt like it would claw itself to shreds. Granted, there wasn't much he could do without funds, but asking Jim for money just didn't seem right. "I'm sure I'd be able to find my way back fine. I seem to know London well enough." Once he finished dressing, Sherlock walked over to Jim with a smile. "You don't mind, do you?"

* * *

"Sure, lovely, but do you really think that's a good idea?" Jim put on a face of concern, sitting down on his bed. "The people who kidnapped you are still out there." he leaned on his arms, his head quirking up to look at Sherlock. He picked up the white dress shirt that Sherlock had laid out on his bed and ran his hands over the thin fabric. "D&G. I've always appreciated your good taste in clothes." He jumped to his feet, holding the shirt out so that he could help Sherlock put it on.

"If you really want to, I can't stop you now, can I?" Jim chuckled as he began buttoning up Sherlock's shirt. He leaned forward, his eyes piercing into Sherlock's steel-grey ones. Jim's fingers lingered on the top button and broke into a slow smile. "Just be careful. There's all sorts of monsters out there who are just dying for the chance to steal you away."

* * *

Sherlock's gaze softened some. Yes, he was frustrated, but Jim had been nothing but accommodating to him. Helpful, even. He let out a sigh as he reached up, hands covering Jim's. "I don't seem to care much for good ideas when you consider everything that's happened. I suppose you're right though. I just hate the thought of lying around and doing nothing. It's like I'm kept." He made a bit of a face, thinking about it.

Dangerous or not, stepping out still intrigued him some. He had to consider Jim's feelings though. Was that easier for him before? Jim. His... something. That was another mystery in of itself. "Perhaps later then? When you get back?" Compromise. That was how people normally did things. Apparently that would be a skill he'd have to relearn along with his memory.

* * *

Jim could see the difficulty it took for Sherlock to assent to his wishes. Sherlock was never one to be caged in, and Jim was almost positive that he would have to call in surveillance to make sure Sherlock didn't run into "trouble" outside. So to say the least, he was very pleased with Sherlock's attempt at a compromise. It would, of course, be much easier, not to mention more preferable, if Jim was around to monitor Sherlock's activities outside of his flat. The last thing Jim would want would be for Sherlock to be stolen away, ending his game in a manner that did not fit the story he wanted.

Jim gave Sherlock a lopsided smile, his fingers twining with the ones resting on top of his hands. "Glad you see my way. When we get back, we can go wherever you like. As long as it's safe, of course." His phone vibrated, and Jim pulled away. He raised his eyebrows sheepishly and shrugged. "I have to get going now. See you later, Sherly." Jim gave Sherlock a little wave and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

What a bizarre feeling, to know that you are trapped while you are clearly capable of leaving at any point in time. That was how Sherlock felt. Trapped. Beyond that, he had no way to contact Jim in the event that he would need the other man.

Fine. He said he wouldn't leave the flat. That's fine. There had to be something in here that would help him. Sherlock's gaze ran over the bedroom. He'd already had a decent look at the closet. Aside from that, the room was sparsely decorated. His fingers ran along the dresser, that and the bedside table were the only other pieces of furniture in the room. That was as good a place as any to start.

Nothing. Sherlock had been through the bedroom, the kitchen and the living room and he couldn't find anything that didn't read 'generic flat'. The most information he'd been able to get was that at least one of them obviously had money. Most things here were very expensive.

There was only one room left.

Slowly, Sherlock opened the door and stepped inside. Some sort of office, maybe this would be more useful.

* * *

**A/N**: The next chapter! I hope you all enjoyed it! Thank you for the follows/favorites, and all of the kind reviews. You all are just wonderful! Don't forget to leave a review and let batlock and I know what you think of the chapter so far. The endgame is still undecided, so if you have a strong preference, or conjectures of what you think might happen, let me know in a review/PM. ;)

And now, virtual cookies to my lovely reviewers: phanpiggy, BloodyRosie, Kurikara-tan, and foxeeflame. :3

-omnomchocolate


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